I Sought My Brother
by Punkin09
Summary: Sam's accused his brother of acting rashly for weeks now, but this just takes the cake. Too bad its not quite Dean anymore...Major hurt Sam. Set early season 2. Rated T for language and descriptions of violence
1. Chapter 1

**Ok, so this story idea didn't just hit me, it completely knocked me over, pinned me down and demanded to be written. I'm not sure how long it's going to end up being, not too lengthy though lol. This is supposed to take place early season 2 (think 'children shouldn't play with dead things') so the boys are still on rocky territory, reeling from John's death. Also, another point, I do not believe the boy's get their awesome tattoos until after BUABS, though we do not actually see those tattoos until…hmmm, Jus in Bello? Perhaps? Somewhere in season 3. So I'm assuming in this story the boys still wear those anti possession charms Bobby gave them. If I'm wrong, then feel free to correct me **** but for the plot's sake, that's how it is haha. Happy reading!**

**-Punkin**

When Sam was younger, plagued by the restlessness of an insatiable hunger produced from the knowledge that one was often sheltered from the truth, no matter how much they inquired or wondered, no matter how much they truly desired to just…know, he'd find himself counting the surreal, distant brush of passing cars ambling down the lonely highways. He'd wish he was in those cars sometimes, for with each sparkling headlight spilling through cracks in the motel room curtains, Sam always felt like he was being so utterly still…so utterly useless and so utterly unknowing, while they, those mysterious traveling strangers, were heading somewhere. He knew that maybe they didn't have the answers, but perhaps they were moving closer to where they wanted to be, perhaps they were moving farther away from where they didn't want to be, and to Sam, that was something worth counting. To Sam, fingers often digging into scratching seats beneath flat, stained pillow cases, the prospect of those oh so lucky people not trapped, not suffocated by their own ignorance, was a bitter enough thought to lull him into dreams which offered no respite from his broiling, ambitious mind.

And so, several years down the line, he found it quite mocking to awake to the familiar biting sensation of ropes digging and burning into his bare wrists, to the muffled thrum of engines and their subsequent fade into the distance, and to the erstwhile hopeful lighting flitting across his blood dried fingers, up his cheek and into his blurred, pathetic vision. _It figures…_at last, a first coherent thought. But of course it figured, because life had dealt him a pretty crappy hand lately, so why miss a chance to screw him over?

Sam's body at last seemed to recall how to function properly, legs secured tightly to the creaky, wooden chair nearly too small for his tall frame, so were completely immobile and stinging with pins and needles from lack there of. Right about now would be when Sam would customarily confront his kidnapper without being too obnoxious, Dean would be pissed if he asked for a beating, and then stall for time until his older sibling could get there and bail him out. However, when Sam's mind, along with his despairing memories of how he came to be in his current predicament, caught up to him, words stuck inside his throat and he allowed his bangs to shadow his eyes so as not to risk the chance of looking at his surroundings and accepting reality.

Reality, apparently, wasn't going to wait for him though, because recognizable humming tickled his ears from behind him, uncomfortably close, and after the sound of slow and methodical movement, crackly, thin music began to leak from the record player leaning in the corner of the Winchester's themed motel room. Goose bumps swept up Sam's naked arms, his tongue digging deep into his cheek at the disturbing blaze of eyes watching him, the deep and usually joyful humming joining in with the depressing song leaking throughout the all too small room. _Don't come over here, don't come over here, please…don't come over-_ Sam swallowed a whimper as he detected the leisurely, booted steps coming towards him, the glint of a knife reflecting off the wall.

Sam stiffened, closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the raw pain radiating from his wrists and ankles, perchance that could anchor him, keep him from being washed away in the title wave of anguish determined to destroy him. The steps stopped, followed by a minute, condescending sigh and the gentle press of a blade against Sam's tear stained cheek. "Open your eyes, little brother."

Sam's heart stuttered, the blood in his veins freezing at the sheer amount of terror the sound of his sibling's voice induced in him when being manipulated into cold, unloving, and malicious tones. Thus, Sam immediately obeyed, blinking up into the handsome contours of Dean's face, marred by hatred not usually welcomed when directed at the one he swore to protect above all else.

Dean smiled then, perfect teeth peeking out at Sam, laughing at how deceiving they could be, at how innocently 'Dean' they could be. He drew in a deep breath, nostrils flaring, "Don't call me that."

The smile widened, the press of the knife becoming more prominent as it bit into his skin, blood sliding nauseatingly down his face and onto his neck. Sam's stomach rolled in protest, the disgusting iron scent filling his mouth. Dean leaned in close, enough so that Sam could smell the toothpaste on his breath and enough so that he was forced to peer deep into those crystal green eyes and acknowledge the humanity that seemed to lie there. "Would you prefer Sammy?" When Sam violently flinched, unaware of the small rip of the knife continuing on its path, Dean chuckled, all at once drawing back and away from him.

Sam's heart was beating so fast that it pounded within his ears, resounding among his thoughts and choking his throat with denied sobs. _It's not him…he's not him…have to remember._ Suddenly, Dean was back, gone only to retrieve the other chair from the table and seat himself in front of Sam, red stained knife twirling between his fingers with practiced skill and deadly promise, promise that contradicted all others that had left his older brother's mouth prior. Sam's fingers clenched, pulling in futile efforts to loosen the ropes, small tremors taking him hold and shaking his core. Silence deafened the room, but for the continuing baritone singing and acoustic guitar that laced the atmosphere in an eerie sense of tranquility. _Just another day, right?_ Somewhere deep down, the pessimist in him laughed.

At last, Dean leaned back in his chair, elbow hanging off the side in a manner no Winchester would ever mimic. "He took it right off, you know."

Sam's molars ground together, and instead of satisfying the fire burning inside, he merely stared back in quiet defiance. This seemed to amuse his sibling, whom continued to pick at a hangnail in apparent indifference, "The charm, I mean. Annoying little contraptions, really. Makes it so much harder to get our hooks into you fine breed of hunters."

Sam's gaze dropped away, eyes misting. _God…he's going to monologue. I don't want to hear this…_Because demons? Sure, they existed on the mere fabrication of a lie, they breathed deception, but they also knew how to use the truth in much more crippling, scarring ways. Now was a time when Sam most definitely did not want to hear the truth, especially from Dean's lips, because he knew whatever stray thoughts his brother had rolling around up there in that unstable head of his would most certainly break him.

Dean was leaning forward again, blade pushing Sam's chin up, green depths twinkling in blatant merriment at the amount of control he possessed over the younger man. "All it took was a pretty face." The cold steel moved, dancing playfully across his chest, pushing a bit too deep every few inches. _I'm going to look like a connect the dots picture after this._ Dean chuckled, "So unoriginal, I thought. He's been doing that a lot lately, huh, little brother?" Wetness began seeping through his shirt, sticky and uncomfortable, but Sam didn't feel it at all, he was frozen, caught in the headlights. "Ditching you, leaving you here to wallow in your own self deprecation. 'I'll be back later Sam, don't wait up,' you know that's code for 'fuck off', don't you?"

The blade withdrew, only to be pressed beneath Sam's eyes, catching a wandering tear as it escaped the confines of his dark eyelashes. Dean's breath pressed against his nose and his brother smiled warmly at him, "But that's okay, Sammy, 'cause at least Dean's finding the comfort he so desperately needs in the wake of you poor daddy's death because we both know that you," Sam blinks, and shivers at the suggestive pause, "just aren't enough."

Sam choked a bit, a strangled sound escaping his mouth and shaking his shoulders. Dean stepped back and stretched, arms thrown wide. "Yep, he just took it right off. All I had to do was bat my eye lashes and we were out of that bar and to my apartment, or should I say the bar tender's apartment." Dean stopped for an instant, beautiful green orbs flashing into bottomless, charcoal black pits. "How does that make you feel, little brother? That he'd just throw away your safety to get off? That he'd be so careless?" A disinterested shrug, followed by a disappointed cluck of the tongue, "Guess you're more expendable than I thought…"

Then, out of nowhere, the knife was plunged deep into Sam's thigh. He screamed while Dean merely laughed, "We're going to have fun, Sammy…so much fun."

When the knife twisted and Sam's vision was drenched in white, a part of him desired desperately to call out for his brother, but he knew this time there'd be no answer.

_TBC…_

_**Oh Boy…here I go again lol **___


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone! Wow, so no excuse for the ridiculously long wait! I apologize to all because I know that I myself just hate to wait for an update. Things have just been absolutely insane here, but now that everything is back to normal I figured it was time I get back to writing! Yay! **** Anywho, things are not looking too good for Sammy right now, and don't worry you limpsam fans, more and more is coming. Oh the angst…haha, so I present chapter two! Happy reading! Also, an extremely heartfelt thank you to all reviewers and people who added this story to alert. You're the reason I write!**

**-Punkin**

When Sam awoke next, skin tingling and leg burning, it was once more to the eerie, gruff humming rumbling from his shell of an older brother. He blinked repetitively, lashes wet and stuck together with dried tears, and his eyes slowly began to focus on the smiling face and emerald green eyes peering out from a welcoming facade.

_Fake…_

It was hard…so hard…not to smile back for a moment, and in the split second Sam was still trying to obtain a firm grasp of reality, a part of him deep inside rejoiced at Dean's presence. But then he realized that the word 'presence' wasn't quite right, because even though Dean, in body, was there, he now sported a very unwelcomed guest.

Something warm snaked down Sam's neck, the sticky sensation of congealing blood pulling heavily on his cheek as if he'd accidentally smeared some stray substance there and then merely had forgotten to wipe it clean.

Dean smiled at him, calloused hands clapping once together in the dry imitation of the joy his elder sibling always seemed to emanate. _Not Dean…NOT_. Sam could perceive it so clearly, and he punished himself terribly for not detecting it right away. But how could he? Dean was grieving, reeling in the wake of John's death. He'd been angry, irritable, obstinate, reproachful, and of late, treated Sam like the plague. So yeah, in the brief time since Dean's return from yet another late night tryst, no doubt nursing his self destructive behavior, and the subsequent attack Sam found himself under, he hadn't noticed the slightest difference between _dad's dead and I'm pissed Dean,_ and _possessed by a demon Dean._

"Nice to see you awake, little brother. I was getting awfully lonely." Sam immediately took notice of the fact that the knife was still in the demon's hand, being juggled with careless ease, as if it were just another random knick knack one would happen to pick up and play with.

Sam glanced briefly down at his leg, surprised to find a tourniquet, most likely one of his t-shirts, tied nice and neat around the stab wound in his leg. He chuckled bitterly;_ Guess 'big brother' can't have me bleeding out before all the fun._ At the sound of Dean's voice, to which Sam marveled how it could have ever come across as authentic, something burned in the depths within. He looked up, directly into the gleeful green gaze, and snarled "Go to hell."

Dean regarded him for several agonizingly long instances filled only with the sound of Sam's wheezing pants before he at last sighed, as if disappointed, and tossed the knife languidly aside. What Sam didn't expect, however, was the quick and alarmingly vicious back hand which snapped his head to the side, blood immediately pouring from lips forced against his teeth. The room spun in circles, the sting from the blow blossoming into a burning pain stretching across his clammy skin. Before Sam had a chance to gain his bearings, Dean snatched his chin between unforgiving fingers and twisted his face back around until he was staring right back into the demon's eyes.

Sam swallowed, determined not to show weakness but feeling as if he was doing nothing but. Dean smiled, "Been there, Sammy. Many, many times." The fingers gripping him only tightened, nails digging deep, and the previously friendly tone became laced with an undercurrent of malice, "Channel your inner Dean all you want, but we'll still know that my mere _touch_," the demon suspended its words, sending a shiver quite literally down Sam's spine, "makes you tremble inside like the snot nosed kid you are."

Never in Sam's life had he felt so much unadulterated hate for something. Sure, there was yellow-eyes, but he was always so intangible, so out of reach. But this…this was right was in front of him, in his brothers likeness, speaking, taunting, threatening to tear down what little world Sam had left! He was tempted, in the short relapse following the demon's words, to spit defiantly, but found, much to his chagrin, that his mouth had become dry, leading to the annoying realization that the creature was right.

He was terrified. _Damn it…_

Only when Dean punched him a second time did Sam comprehend that he'd been asked a question, but had not reciprocated an answer. "For a college boy you sure do have a short attention span." Black dots drifted across Sam's vision, blood pooling in his mouth. Dean stepped back, seeming to disregard whatever he'd inquired of the inattentive younger Winchester, and tapped his chin as if in contemplation. "You know, I see all, little brother."

Sam's bangs fell slightly over his eyes when he managed to right himself and the sensation of his head not being balanced quite right in consideration to the rest of his body caused his stomach to flip and turn. As if to assist him and ensure that his words were no longer ignored, the demon cupped both of Sam's cheeks with his hands, grip ruthlessly cruel, and rested his thumbs just below Sam's eyes.

"I see _all_, everything your big brother's got stored in here, I _see it_." Sam attempted to pull away, but found it impossible. Dean chortled, "Let me tell you, it's not pretty. I expected as much, of course, Sammy. But, there is just so much _hate_," the green eyes bore vehemently into Sam, burning deep into his soul and stripping him down to his dreadfully weak foundation, "so much _resentment_."

The demon leaned in close, hot breath ghosting over Sam's face, their foreheads virtually touching. "And all of this, all this nastiness your 'doting big brother' has harbored, you want to know who it's for? _You._"

Sam's chest heaved and his breath hitched, betrayed by his own body when he felt an indisputable sting in his eyes. "Is this what you're playing at?" His voice hissed, the movement causing a thin trickle of blood to leak from the corner of his lips. "Trying to make me believe your pathetic lies?"

The demon pulled back, releasing Sam's face before burying his fist deep into Sam's stomach. Unable to properly absorb the blow, Sam gasped; the air forced itself from his lungs and then he began coughing, sending wracks of pain traveling throughout his body. A hot tear escaped the corner of his right eye and crawled all the way down to the knife inflicted wound on his cheek where the salt water subsequently burned, as if someone were holding a lighter against his skin.

Dean knelt down this time until he was eye level with the struggling, writhing Winchester, as if taking great pity on him. He clucked his tongue, fingers gently and tenderly wiping the tear away. At the caring gesture, something inside of Sam recoiled and he was forced to swallow the bile determined to claw up his throat. "Demons may lie, little brother, but at least we don't lie to _ourselves_."

Even if Sam sought to protest, he found that he couldn't anyway. Words seemed to be stuck, his body uncooperative as it froze underneath the familiar, and usually endearing, warm gaze of his sibling. The yellowed and dimmed lighting overhead flickered momentarily, the strobe light effect simply adding the allusion of the deceitful green flashing to an abysmal black. The smile on Dean's face only widened, albeit shadowed by evil intentions and the insidious monster in control of his body. It then proceeded by tapping Sam once on the tip of his nose. "I was under the impression that you were the smart one, Sammy! Who knew I'd have so much to teach you…"

That was when Sam conceived that things were only going to get worse.


End file.
